


Playing at Love

by Willaphyx



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, in which jake didn't die, this is literally just trashy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:24:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4321296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willaphyx/pseuds/Willaphyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bellamy?” Octavia asked softly, never taking her eyes off Clarke.  “Are you doing anything on Saturday?”</p><p>Bellamy froze, eyes flickering between his sister and her roommate, posture stiff.  “No.  Why?”</p><p>“Because I need you to be Clarke’s boyfriend.”</p><p>“You what?” Bellamy and Clarke yelled simultaneously, making tones of incredulity in their voices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing at Love

It was barely even noon and Clarke was already in a bad mood, banging into the apartment she shared with Octavia, and dropping her messenger bag onto the floor before collapsing face first onto the couch.

It smelled musty, she noted.  She’d have to remember to Febreeze it later.  After her mental breakdown.  After all, what was it they always said?  Take care of yourself first?

The creaking of floorboards announced Octavia’s arrival into the room.  “What happened this time?” she asked, a note of weariness in her voice.

Clarke lifted her head and blew her hair out of her mouth.  “You remember that charity dinner that my parents strong-armed me into agreeing to go to?”

“Yeah?” Octavia said carefully.

“It’s this weekend, not next.”

“In two days,” Octavia supplied helpfully.  At least that weariness had been replaced by concern, Clarke thought as her head flopped back down.

“Yes.”

“You still going?”

Clarke exhaled, long and deep.  “I don’t have a choice.  After Dad’s brush with leukemia, I can’t not go to a cancer benefit.”

Octavia hummed.  “You want me to come with?”

Clarke smiled.  “No, but thanks, O.”

“All right,” her roommate said, moving back towards the kitchen.  “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I will,” Clarke replied after a long pause, voice muffled by the upholstery.

After Jake Griffin’s miraculous recovery from stage 3 leukemia, Clarke’s parents had thrown themselves (and by extension their only daughter) into the fight against cancer.  For Clarke this meant occasionally pledging money to her parents’ Relay for Life team, or maybe agreeing to help bake cookies for a bake sale.  The benefits were a new, albeit rare, development, and Clarke hated them.  Having to dress up, twist her hair into some fancy and uncomfortable undo, socialize with a bunch of hoity toity rich people who were probably only there so they could claim the donation on their tax returns, and watch her parents be in love after the years and years of animosity culminating in multiple almost divorces and two definite separations.

But Jake’s cancer had put an end to all of that, she supposed.

The subject of this weekend’s even didn’t come up again until dinner, when Clarke threw down her fork, causing Octavia to jump.

“Clarke, what the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, putting down her own cutlery and glaring at her roommate across the table.  “You’ve been off all day.  You’re not still worked up about the benefit are you?”

Clarke glared at her.  Octavia smirked.

“All right, so you have to put on another dress and pretend not to hate your parents’ friends.  You’ve done that before, what’s so different this time?”

Clarke stared at the table, mind spinning.  “They’re trying to set me up with one of Dad’s politician friends’ sons.”

“So say no,” Octavia said simply.

Clarke snorted.  “Right.  Because that will work.  ‘But, Clarke,’” she mimicked.  “‘He’s such a nice young man.  Why don’t you just give him a chance?’”  She shook her head.  “No thanks,” she added bitterly.

Octavia tilted her head and studied her.  “So tell them you’re dating someone.”

“Yeah, but I’m not,” Clarke pointed out.  “And we both know that if I can’t produce a boyfriend my mom won’t buy it.”

Octavia chewed her lip.  In the front room a key turned in the lock.

“O?  Clarke?  You guys home?”

“We’re in the kitchen, Bell!” Octavia yelled back and moments later, her brother sauntered in, slipping his keys back into his pocket, leaning against the doorjamb.

“You started without me?” he asked, in a mock upset tone that had Clarke rolling her eyes.

“You have your own apartment with your own kitchen, Bellamy,” she said tiredly.  “Eat there.”

He grinned and slid into their third chair.  “But where’s the fun in that, princess?”

She shot him one last glare then turned back to her chinese food, twirling a noodle around her fork, and trying not to think about the formal dress she’d dropped off at the dry cleaners earlier.

 _Cross that bridge when you come to it, Clarke_ , she told herself.  _It’s still two days away_.

Bellamy was stealing pieces of cashew chicken off his sister’s plate but she didn’t even seem to notice, too distracted looking between Clarke and Bellamy, a light in her eye that Clarke really didn’t like the look of.

Something clicked in Clarke’s brain.

“ _Octavia_ ,” she said, voice low, warning.

Octavia grinned, her face taking on that innocent ‘who me?’ look that always meant she was planning something diabolical.

“Bellamy?” Octavia asked softly, never taking her eyes off Clarke.  “Are you doing anything on Saturday?”

Bellamy froze, eyes flickering between his sister and her roommate, posture stiff.  “No.  Why?”

“Because I need you to be Clarke’s boyfriend.”

“ _You what?”_ Bellamy and Clarke yelled simultaneously, making tones of incredulity in their voices.

Clarke and Octavia had hit it off immediately on the first day of third grade and had been best friends ever since.  Clarke and Bellamy, however, had been anything but friends, with phases of acquaintanceship that spanned the whole spectrum, from blatant hatred to that crush Clarke had had on him when she was a sophomore in high school, to maybe that one time when they both kinda sorta liked each other at the same time but didn’t do anything about it, to now, when on a good day, Clarke figured she didn’t mind him, and when she was drunk, maybe she even liked him a little.

But that didn’t mean she wanted to take him to her parents’ charity ball auction thing and present him as her _boyfriend_.

Judging from the horrified look on Bellamy’s face, he didn’t want that either.

“Why does Clarke need a boyfriend?” he demanded.

“Her parents are forcing her to go to another charity event,” Octavia explained calmly.  “And they’re going to try and set her up with one of their friend’s kids.”

“So therefore _I_ have to go to said charity event?  _Why?_ ”

“Because you love me?” she offered.

Bellamy rolled his eyes.  His gaze shifted over to Clarke, who met his eyes unfalteringly.  As much as she really didn’t want to spend an evening with just Bellamy for company, she also really didn’t want to spend another evening listening to her mother talk about how _this_ young man graduated summa cum laude from Harvard and how _this_ one was going to law school at Yale and how _this_ one over here was in need of a trophy wife, 2.5 children, and a golden retriever.

“Fine,” Clarke said suddenly, standing and dropping her plate in the sink.  “Be here at one on Saturday and bring a tux.”

She had crossed halfway into the living room before Bellamy processed what she’d said.  “What?” he demanded, storming out after her.  “Who says you get to make that decision?  I’m not doing it, Clarke.”

Clarke groaned and spun on her heel.  “Seriously?”

He crossed his arms over his chest.  “Yeah.  The answer is no.  And that’s that.”

She glared.  He glared back, quirked one eyebrow.  She groaned.

“Come on, Bellamy!”

The eyebrow rose impossibly higher.

“I need you to help me.  Okay?  One night and then I’m in your debt.  I’ll do whatever you want.”

“ _Whatever_ I want?” he repeated, incredulous.

“Within reason,” she corrected quickly.

“All right, Clarke, I’ll be your boyfriend for a night,” he said finally, a smile that Clarke didn’t like the look of creeping onto his face.  “And then you _owe me_.”

She sighed.  “Yeah, yeah, okay.”  She clapped him on the shoulder and turned around again.  “Now get out of our apartment.”

“Bye, Bell!” Octavia yelled from the kitchen.

Clarke didn’t need to look at him to know that he was rolling his eyes.

“Bye, O,” he called back as Clarke wondered back into her bedroom.  The front door slammed shut.

It only took seven minutes for Octavia to appear in Clarke’s doorway, a shit-eating grin on her face that reminded Clarke way too much of her brother.

“What do you want?” Clarke moaned, rolling over onto her back.

Octavia stepped farther into her room, and sat on the corner of her bed.  “You know, I totally know about that massive crush you have on my brother.”

“I do not have a massive crush on your brother,” Clarke fired back tiredly.

Octavia chuckled.  “Okay, Clarke.”

Clarke propped herself up on her elbows.  “ _I don’t!_ ” she insisted.

Octavia patted her leg.  “I believe you.”

“No, you don’t,” Clarke muttered.

O grinned.  “Night, Clarke.”

“Traitor!” Clarke yelled after her.

“Love you, babe!” Octavia yelled back.

Clarke groaned and fell back on her bed, closing her eyes and sighing.

Two days.  Two days and this whole business would be over.

 

Saturday was blustery and a little bit cold, unusual for this early in September but then the forecasters had been saying that winter would come early this year.  Clarke shivered as her bare feet touched the floor and stretched, a couple of her vertebrae popping.

“Gross, Clarke!” Octavia yelled from the living room and Clarke stifled a smile.

A smile that slid off her face as her eyes automatically gravitated to the dress hanging in a clear garment bag on her closet door.  She stared at it for a moment, allowing her eyes to trace the graceful curves of the dark purple satin, the sweetheart neckline, the one wide strap.  She swallowed.  It was a beautiful dress and, according to Octavia, she looked ‘balling’ in it.  It was a shame she had to waste it on a charity ball that she didn’t even want to attend.

And with Bellamy nonetheless.

Clarke sighed and hauled herself out of bed.

“He’s not going to be a giant pain in the ass is he?” she asked Octavia later as she loaded the dishwasher.

“When is my brother not a giant pain in the ass?” Octavia asked, a note of affection creeping into her voice.

“True,” Clarke allowed.

“He’s not going to be a dick in front of your parents, if that’s what you’re asking,” O added after a long pause.  “He can be a perfect gentleman when he wants to be.”

Clarke snorted.  Octavia smiled and dumped soap into the dishwasher.

“Trust me,” she said, “you’ll see.”

Clarke grumbled out something that could have been interpreted as an affirmation.  Octavia just smiled again.

“He did agree, didn’t he?” she prompted.

Clarke shrugged.  “Sure if you count me bribing him as agreement.”  She paused.  “I don’t.”

Octavia hummed.  “He would have done it anyway,” she answered assuredly, patting her roommate on the shoulder.  “Bell’s always had a bit of a soft spot for you.”

“ _What?”_ Clarke demanded as Octavia padded out of the kitchen.  “What are you talking about?”

Octavia didn’t reply.

Clarke stewed over this new information for the rest of the morning.  As far as she could tell Bellamy had never shown any behavior towards her that could have counted as “a soft spot.”  Unless you counted throwing a pie in her face at one of their middle school’s annual spring flings, stealing her towel _and_ change of clothes that one time Clarke went camping with the Blakes, or pushing her into the pool at Octavia’s sixteenth birthday party.  Among other incidents.

There were a lot of them.

She didn’t even really expect him to show.  And she definitely didn’t expect him to show fifteen minutes early, with a garment bag over one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other hand.  Clarke found herself rooted to their doorway, frozen, unable to move, staring at the vibrant yellow petals of the sunflower int he center of the arrangement.

Bellamy was chewing his lip.  “Do you not like them?” he asked, and Clarke had to admit that with that expression he was almost cute.

Okay, he was cute.  The Blakes had excellent genes, okay?  If Octavia wasn’t her best friend and roommate she definitely would have jumped on that years ago.

She forced herself out of the daze and smiled, hopefully reassuringly.  It did’t ease the worried look on Bellamy’s face.  “No, they’re lovely, thank you.”  She accepted them from him, ignoring the _zing_ that raced across her skin as her fingers briefly whispered across his.  “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

She got a rakish grin in response that floored her for an entirely different reason.  “What kind of boyfriend doesn’t bring his girl flowers?”

 _Boyfriend.  His girl_.  Clarke’s mind was shorting out.

 _Stop it, Griffin_ , she told herself sternly.  _He’s your fake boyfriend for a night to get your mom off your back.  That’s it._

“Nothing for me?” Octavia asked from the couch, where she was sprawled out watching _Project Runway_ reruns.

Bellamy tossed a Kit Kat onto her stomach and Octavia beamed at him.  “You always bring me the nicest things, Bell.”

“Oh, shut up,” he mumbled, cheeks going a bit red.

Clarke needed to extricate herself from this situation.  Quickly.

“The event starts at five,” she told Bellamy briskly.  “And it’s a good hour and a half drive from here.”

“So we’re leaving at three,” he replied.  “Got it.”

“How did you —”

He smiled weakly.  “You’re predictable, princess.”

“Oh.”

“Could you two either shut up or get out?  I want to hear Tim Gunn yell at this chick.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes but dropped onto the couch next to his sister.  “What’s wrong with the dress?”

“Look at it!” Octavia pointed.  “It’s like a craft store exploded.  Tulle fucking _everywhere_.  And not in the good way.”

Clarke smiled, taking a moment to steal a glance at the siblings, so comfortable around each other, as Octavia ripped open the chocolate bar and offered half a stick to Bellamy.  He took it without even looking, having already known that she was going to give it to him.

Clarke slipped out of the room before they realized she was staring, crossing the threshold into her room

Her alarm clock informed her that it was 1:20.  She had an hour and a half to get ready, more than enough time to get dressed, do her hair and makeup, and convince herself that these feelings she was having for Bellamy Blake were nothing at all.

She hadn’t put the dress on since she bought it several months ago, and she’d forgotten how smooth the silk felt against her skin, how the waves of fabric fell around her, flattering her figure in all the right ways.  She pushed one last pin into her hair and studied herself in the floor-length mirror she kept propped against her wall.

She barely even recognized the girl that stared back.  The Clarke in the mirror was dressed to the nines, with flawless makeup and hair curled just perfectly.  There were no errant mascara flakes on her cheeks, no stray lipstick on her teeth.  Her smoky eye would have made the Beauty Editor of _Cosmo_ jealous.  The Clarke staring back at her out of the glass would have made any girl jealous.

But not Clarke.  Clarke didn’t want to be the picture of perfection anymore.  She didn’t want to be the daughter that her parents paraded around in front of their rich friends in fancy dresses and too much makeup as if to say ‘look what great parents we are, look, see, even after that almost-divorce and Jake’s cancer, Clarke’s still everything you could ever want in a child.’

She snapped her clutch closed, lipstick, credit card, and ID secure inside, and squared her shoulders.  Tonight would be her revenge.  She’d see what her parents thought after she showed up to their fancy party with “that boy who lives down the street who looks like he always needs a haircut.”

She smiled and there was a sharply gleaming look reflected in her eye, a sliver of the real Clarke streaming through.

 

Uncomfortable rolled off Bellamy in waves all the way to the event.  In true Abby Griffin fashion, Clarke’s mom had ordered a town car to drive them to the benefit, complete with suited driver in sunglasses, bottled San Pellegrino, and crystal glasses.  Clarke figured Bellamy had probably never seen crystal glasses in his life.  She wished they weren’t so commonplace to her.  Wished that the world of luxury was more fantastical and awe-inspiring to her, instead of something that she just wanted to run from as fast as she could and never look back.

The auction itself was being held at a fancy hotel in the middle of a forest, all charming stonework and blazing lanterns.  Clarke thanked the driver and clambered out of the car, Bellamy right behind her, into the bright lights of flashbulbs and cameras clicking away in her face.  She quickly grabbed for Bellamy’s arm, yanking him up beside her.  He muffled a curse but slid an arm around her, fingers tightening on her waist in a distinctly possessive fashion.

They walked in like that, through a lobby lined with darkened wood, pristine carpet under their feet, surrounded by vases and vases of flowers on wrought iron end tables, following the steady stream of other guests to the thrown-wide doors of the Grand Ballroom.  Clarke faltered a little as she caught sight of her parents just inside the entrance, smiling and shaking the hands of their guests.

Bellamy’s arm tightened around her waist, just enough and Clarke chanced a glance at him.  His eyes were focused on her parents, his jaw tight.  Somehow the sight causes a bloom of warmth in her, knowing that for some reason, despite the fact that he hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place, he was on her side.

Her next step was stronger.  And the next stronger still.  Bellamy’s hand dropped from her side as they drew closer and Clarke’s stomach twisted.

“Clarke!” Abby said, delight evident in her voice.

Clarke smiled and hugged her mother.  “Mom.  Dad.”

She squeezed her father extra tightly, inhaled the familiar woody smell that the cologne Abby insisted on buying him never could quite cover up, and smiled into his shoulder.

The moment was broken all too quickly.

“Clarke, there’s someone you simply _must meet_.  A lovely young man, I think you’ll get along fabulously.”

Despite Abby’s strong grip on her wrist, Clarke stood firm, other hand finding the sleeve of Bellamy’s tuxedo.  “Mom, I, uh, this is Bellamy.”  She gestured to him as he stepped forward, a wide smile plastered across his face, hand out to be shook.

“Mr. and Dr. Griffin.  It certainly has been a long time.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed then widened.  “Bellamy _Blake_?”

Bellamy’s smile didn’t waver.  “The one and only.”

“Aren’t you the one who pushed Clarke into the pool at your sister’s birthday party?”

Bellamy had the decency to look bashful.  “Yes, that, uh, that was me.”

Jake nodded slowly.  “And now you’re here as her date?”

“Not just my date,” Clarke interjected.  “Bell and I are dating.”

She made a mental note to call up their high school drama teacher and thank her.  Not even Octavia could have seen through the bright smile that crossed Bellamy’s face as he looked down at her and slid an arm around her.

“And you didn’t feel the need to tell us this, why?” Abby demanded.

“It’s still new,” Bellamy offered.  “We didn’t want to rush it by doing ‘meet the parents’ too soon.  Or at least she didn’t.”  He shrugged.  “I’m crazy about her.”  Another grin.

 _Damn_ , Clarke thought.  _He’s good_.

Thankfully, Jake and Abby were drawn away by another arriving guest and Clarke and Bellamy were able to skirt by unnoticed.

“Crazy about me, huh?” Clarke muttered under her breath when they were far enough away.

Bellamy smirked and pinched her side.  Clarke yelped.  “You know it, princess.”  The corners of his lips were flirting with a smile.  Clarke rolled her eyes.

“Whatever.”

As she’d been expecting, the auction was boring.  It was the same tedious business as always—people with more money than they knew what to do with throwing said money at expensive luxury cruises, all-expenses-paid vacations to Thailand, and diamond-encrusted dog collars.  If it hadn’t been for the really awesome champagne, Clarke would have probably fled to the bathroom forty-five minutes ago.

Oh, and the fact that the barely concealed glares Abby kept throwing at Bellamy were really making her week.

“How long do you think it would take me to be able to afford that island paradise they just raffled off working at the bar?” Bellamy asked, breath hot against her ear, ruffling her hair.

Clarke shivered, cleared her throat.

“With or without bankrupting you?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound as faint as it seemed.

He chuckled.  She was glad she was sitting down.

(She got her revenge twenty minutes later when she refused to tell him which fork was for his salad.)

By the end of the night her feet were aching and she wanted nothing more than to crawl home and curl up on the couch with a blanket and a romantic comedy.  Yet the evening itself hadn’t been complete torture, at least not like she’d been expecting.  Bellamy had thrown a more tolerable cast over the whole thing, making her laugh, and insisting on playing ‘guess how much it’ll go for’ with every lot, much to their neighbors’ chagrin.

As her parents took the stage for closing remarks, something about raising funds and finding a cure for this horrible disease, Clarke felt Bellamy’s eyes on her, appraising and warm, yet not in a way that she’d ever seen before.  He was studying her, carefully, and seemed to be almost confused by what he saw.  Clarke found her eyes locking with his as the audience swelled to their feet around them, giving Jake and Abby Griffin a rousing standing ovation.

But Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake didn’t even notice.  They were too caught up in each other.

They rode home in silence.  Clarke was flying high, a mixture of too much champagne, a lot of laughter, and foiling her mother’s matchmaking plans.  She decided that this was the reason why she was all too tempted to reach out and take Bellamy’s hand, lying solitary and alone on the seat between them.  Instead she turned her face into the windshield and watched the headlights of the cars going the other way flash by.  Before she knew it they’d be home and these feelings would be lost tomorrow to a champagne fueled haze.

Octavia’s door was closed and her light was off when Clarke pushed open the door, leaving Bellamy standing awkwardly on their doorstep.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked carefully, “sleep on the couch?”

He shook his head.  “No, thanks, I should be getting home, I think.”

“It’s one-thirty in the morning.”

He just smiled.

“Are you even okay to drive?”

“I didn’t drink,” he said honestly.  And it was the truth.  Clarke had been the only one taking the champagne glasses offered by the wait staff.

“Right.”  She paused, swallowed, looked away for a second.  “Thank you so much for tonight.  I really appreciate it.”

He grinned and ducked his head.  “Best dinner I’ve had in a long time, princess.  And it was free.”

She reached out to lightly punch his arm.  “I’m serious,” she said softly.  “Thank you.”

His gaze was intense when it met hers next.  Her breath stopped in her throat, blue eyes glued to his brown ones.  “Well in that case,” he said, leaning in.  “You’re welcome.”

His lips pressed against her cheek, mounting a firm pressure that sent sparks of heat to Clarke’s fingers.

“Good night, Clarke Griffin,” he whispered into her ear, and then he was gone.

“Good night, Bellamy Blake,” she told the empty air long after the sound of his car had faded down the street.

Long after she’d pulled on her pajamas, washed off her makeup, and brushed her teeth, long after she’d fallen into bed and tried to close her eyes, she accepted that there was no denying how much she had wanted Bellamy Blake’s lips on hers instead of her cheek.

Octavia had left for work by the time Clarke dragged herself out of bed, which was good.  She really didn’t want to have to explain how, as per usual, Octavia had been right all along.

Clarke did have a crush on her brother.  And boy, was it massive.

There was a knock at the door at 11:15.  Cursing every deity she could think of, Clarke hauled herself off the couch and shuffled across the living room to the door, wrenching it open, and preparing to give whoever was on the other side a stern talking to about leaving people alone on Sundays.

Bellamy pushed past her before she had even opened her mouth, saying “we need to talk, Clarke.”

She closed her mouth and then the door.

“That’s what phones are for,” she said grumpily, wandering back to the couch and collapsing onto it.

“In person,” he added.

She straightened, concerned.  “Is everything okay?  Did something happen?

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” he said dismissively.

She sank back into the cushions.

“I’m laying all my cards out on the table here, Clarke.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, studying him.

“You told me I could have anything I wanted.  And what I want is a date with you.  A real one.  No parents, no tuxedos, no fancy dresses, no champagne—well, not unless you want it.”

“But this was all fake,” she said dumbly.  “Just a sham.  To keep my mom off my back.  We were _playing_ , Bellamy.”

His smile was sad as he shook his head.  “I didn’t lie to your parents last night,” he said after a long pause.  “I am crazy about you.  Have been for a long time.”  He shrugged.  “I figured it was about time that I told you.”

She swallowed hard, fingers digging into her palms.

“I can go if you want.”

She was half the way to him before she even realized she’d stood up.  “No, no, no,” she said in a rush.  “Don’t do that.”

There was still a wary something in his eye that told her he didn’t believe her.  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, reaching up to touch his cheek.  She could tell he was fighting the instinct to lean into her touch.  “Please don’t go.”

“Clarke—“ he said, and something inside her snapped.

Because she was kissing him.  She was kissing Bellamy in the middle of her living room, and one of her hands was inching its way into his hair as the other slid around his back, and his hands were on her hips and _damn_.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, pulling back.  “For being such an idiot.”

He laughed, seemingly just as breathless as she was.  “I think that was worth it,” he whispered, leaning back in and she found herself grinning helplessly.

“Date?” she asked just before his lips sealed over hers again.

“Later,” he whispered against her skin.  “I’m not quite done with you yet.”

Octavia later insisted that she’d known about their feelings for each other for months.  Bellamy called her a dirty rotten liar.  But he bought her a king sized Kit Kat and agreed to watch Desperate Housewives with minimal complaints anyway.  Though that might have had more to do with Clarke’s head on his shoulder and hand in his.  Not that it mattered really.)

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


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